Page 24 of Colton's Secret Weapon
She didn’t want sense. She wanted her father home. Passed out drunk if it had to be that way, but home.
Was that the lesson she was there to learn, then? To be more tolerant of Whaler’s drinking? To accept the liquor as part of their lives, rather than constantly trying to get her father to leave it behind?
Fine then. She’d make peace with the bottle.
Did you get that?She wanted to scream the words aloud. Settled for the silent communication that wouldn’t get her thrown out of polite society.I get the messageshe added for good measure, just in case someone out there in the spirit world was having as bad a day as she was.
“Kansas is heading up a search and rescue team, and they’ll be heading out shortly, starting from the bar. Welding and his partner are going to be canvasing the area, talking to everyone who was in the bar yesterday.”
Feeling her face start to tingle from tension, Dove forced herself to relax back in her seat. One muscle at a time. Starting with her neck. Her cheeks. Her fingers. Not in any of the orderly ways she taught. Didn’t matter. Toes. Elbows. Any relaxing at all.
Lavender. Remembering that she had it on her, she shoved a hand down her shirt, in between her breasts, and pulled out the sachet, holding it under her nose with both hands. Breathing deeply.
And slowly realized that other than looking like some kind of weirdo, she was just fine. Not passing out. Or losing her life.
It was all right there. Waiting for her to take control and move forward. From a bad moment to what came next. Knowing that if she just kept going, good would be there waiting.
Even if the relief just came from a whiff of lavender.
Mitchell’s voice came back to her. “…out of an abundance of caution. There’s no evidence to prove that Whaler, or a human being for that matter, was dragged.”
Dove took it in, the deep timbre. The warmth. Along with the words. And drew in a full breath, too. “What’s next? How can I help?”
“You keep your cell phone charged, and on your person, in case he tries to contact you.”
Of course. A given. She nodded anyway. “What else?”
The look in Mitchell’s eye brought another flash of fear for a second, but then all she saw was warmth, and she wondered if she’d imagined the fear. Or had projected her own terror onto his glance.
“We go to the grocery store,” he told her, as though they’d already had the plan.
She was game. If there was something there, some camera, some person, that could give them information. When he didn’t offer more, just counted out cash from his wallet, placing it with the bill on the table, she asked, “What are we doing there?”
“Buying groceries.” His tone sounded so normal, she went with it for a second.
Until reality hit again, and with dread she asked, “To feed the search and rescue team?”
Mitchell stood, and so she followed suit. “No,” he said. “You said you’d cook for your keep. Dinner’s in just a few hours.”
Oh. Well. Dove hurried after him out to the car. Thinking about what he’d said. Another few seconds of something to focus on other than what could be happening to Bob St. James.
Or what could already have…
No. It hadn’t. She’d know.
The fates had strongly prompted her to seek out Mitchell Colton’s help. She had to trust that he knew what he was doing. That whatever it was, and for whatever reason, she was meant to follow along. And so she asked, “Do you prefer your vegetables sautéed, boiled or baked?”
Because at the moment, the thought of planning anything more than the side dish was beyond her.
She’d be in better shape once they were actually at the store. Walking the aisles. She’d find her strength. Come through.
She just had to trust. Trust herself.
Trust her father to stay alive.
And trust Mitchell Colton, too.
Chapter 8
